


Shredded

by candidkage



Series: Hell Verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Brief noncon, Comforting Dean, First Time, Hell, M/M, Masturbation, Murder, Poor Dean, Post-Hell, Resurrection, Top!Sam, Topping from the Bottom, bottom!Dean, memories of hell, noncon if you squint, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 19:15:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8857558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candidkage/pseuds/candidkage
Summary: Dean has just resurfaced from Hell and the tryst between him and Sam has not been reignited. What is it that Dean is hiding from Sam, and will he ever open up to his brother again?





	1. Part 1

Dean was wet. The rain around him had been coming down in buckets for the last hour and all the while he had been standing in it. I guess you could say it was one of Dean's favourite ways to deal with immense personal angst; grab the impala while his brother was distracted in front of the computer and drive out to the farthest, most secluded road within the town's limits. It was either this or get drunk and find himself a randy who resembled as close to a playboy bunny he could find. Running away for some solitude had won out this time.

  
The road was only a two-lane, stretching out for long quiet miles between two sides of dense carolinian forest. The sky above it had stood like a grey wall just as he arrived, but now it was nothing but a blur of big fat droplets that spattered loudly on the hood of his girl. He was leaning beside her, just letting everything soak into him. Droplets trickled down his hair and flooded across his cheeks, each new drop becoming a new part of the system.

His eyes remained fixed towards the infinite pattern that was the forest before him. So much endless reproduction and growth, endless patterns becoming so much that the trees became nothingness. Was this Life? It had all seemed so startling, almost painful when he had finally breached that last wall of dirt and found himself in this soft cushy world again. After so many years, he thought he had forgotten how slow and bright and endlessly alive the earth was. In some truth, he had forgotten, and it was almost too hard to grasp at its reality… until his nightmares began.

Pain and fear and flesh had been his world for forty years. He had even begun to reinvent himself in it, take joy in it's perversion, scream and writhe and carve to it's thrum as he took his first steps to becoming a part of it forever. Oh God how he remembered it, how much satisfaction he took from inflicting on others what was once his own burden to bear. That with every soul he tore down, he too went with them. Like hurting himself would pardon his actions. He could still feel Alastair's glee as he was taken from the rack, only a few pieces of flesh left on his bones, and handed his own set of knives. Slick and black like blood.

And now every night he remembered. He could still feel the growing heat on his flesh as the skin of another was ripped by his hands. The laughter of Alastair still rang in the sickness around him, conquering him, flooding him with not only fear but insanity. Affliction was his air and torment his food.

It took the sky opening up to make him start to notice the new weight of his leather jacket. The sight of it's taught supple hide almost made him begin to remember the diseased orgasm he had wrought from the bodies of so many souls. He almost wanted to rip it apart, but instead shed it and threw it into the passenger seat.

  
The dark heat of his memories started to make his skin itch. It itched all the way down from his lightly freckled nape to the top of his groin, settling deeply into his skin like a burrowing insect. Dean leaned back against the Impala a bit more and brought his hand down along the hard shaft beneath his jeans. He groaned and closed his eyes to pretend it wasn't happening.

Hitched breath puffed out into the dense humidity around him, skin prickling in sensitivity. The blood in his ears began to hum, the friction between his palm and jeans becoming his newfound focus as he picked up the pace and dragged his tongue out to taste the rain on his lips. It had been forty years since this was safe, since this action meant pleasure instead of hysteria, and Dean was apprehensive. Deep down he could feel his blood boiling, threatening to rise up over the edge and scald him with its dark crimson. Taint him with its rich voice and stain him with its rawness. He wanted it to.

Unconscious thumbs rubbed at his waistband and slid into the groove of his fly, working on instinct to remove the extra folds of fabric as smoothly as possible. The moment his heat hit the cool wet air felt like a relief, his well-hidden vulnerability finally being able to become a part of him. Every particle in the air, every droplet of rain that hit his skin became magnified in that moment as his blood began to rush louder in his ears. With a sure hand, teasing and deliberate, he began to explore the flesh of his cock. The world of endless forest and road faded into the new-forming fog around him as he let his head droop forward and the rain tickle his nape.

  
The rush began quickly and his surrender was easy when it was just him and endlessness. He let out another moan, louder, more wanton than before as a flush rose to his freckled cheeks. He began to picture his assailant; warm strong hands, smirking lips, broad shoulders, fissured waist. He could almost feel Sam's breath on his face, almost feel his figure looming over him in possession as his hand sped up to match the demands of his hips.

"Sam."

The twist of his rain-slick head wasn't enough, but the tease of its potential was leading Dean to the edge. The drumming of blood in his ears, his chest, became the beat of his twists, his moans, his thrusts, his "Sam" until he could feel the sparks begin in his toes. Shuffling muddy boots on pavement to readjust his balance on his girl gave him a moment to catch his breath and perfect the pace.

He and Sam hadn't touched more than brotherly since he had first embraced him upon his return in that crappy motel. It was a mixture of respect for Sam's potential normal heterosexual life and his own fear of what may bubble up from the depths of his memories of Hell. They had only just begun to open up to each other's desires before Dean's year was up; that timeline had allowed for Sam and himself to take the risk of each other without room for regret. What would Sam think of Dean now that he was damaged goods?

Dean had been more than a body to cut for Alastair. The hiss of his voice became a trigger for the roil in Dean's belly, the slide of his blade through Dean's flesh the final shove off the cliff into orgasm. Oh God, the orgasms that tore apart his body in ways that random women and Sam were never able to do. Sam could never know.

  
Dean could feel himself peaking, could feel the urge to wretch and blurt blood from unknown wounds like he had so many time before with Alastair surface alongside his older urge to feel Sam's lips and love consume him in the rush. The deep conflict left him confused, guilty, and groaning out the last shakes of his orgasm.

He was fucked.

  
Throat gasped raw and breathing still charged, Dean's pupil's refocused on his surroundings. The pine needles of the forest seemed closer now. The rain had let up, and the cotton of his shirt clung desperately to his warmth. He curled his flesh between his fingers thoughtfully and peered down at his decision. This was so fucked up, so desperate. How could he have reached this level of depravity? How could he possibly relearn his kinks when he'd been left screaming at Alastair's hands longer than moaning at the hands of his own brother?

More importantly, how could he keep this away from Sam?

He stared a long time, unfocused at the ground before he felt an itch and tucked himself away. Sitting around would only pick Sam's curiosity more, give him a chance to catch up to Dean in his bubble of privacy. The cold creak of the Impala door slammed closed beside him as the familiar rumble of his baby's engine sent a glow through his chest.

He would find a way.


	2. Part 2

When Dean's soggy shoes crossed the threshold of their motel room, nothing had changed. Sam still sat at his computer, peering into it as if it had just insulted him, books piled open to pages he had deemed significant. Dean could almost hear the water slide off his forearm as he twist his wrist to bolt the door shut behind him. 

Without looking up, "So I found us a new case." Click, click, click. 

"Oh, yeah?" Dean's voice came out wrecked. It wasn't what he had wanted. 

"Just the trick of finding more patterns as usual. You would think that this country's police force would pick up on some of these things after so long." Tap, tap, tap of a pencil against a stiff wood table.

"Well, you're the one to find them Sammy." The words were bitter in his mouth. After what he had done, Sam's name would always be tainted as it brushed along his tongue. He begun to peel his shirt over his skin, feeling the cloth strip away some of the truth about earlier. A hot shower would be nice.

"I think that either of us is the one to find it Dean. I'm just the one who prefers to sit and stay until I do."

Sounding as cheerful as he could, "That's why you're the sidekick and I'm the lead Sammy!" 

He was almost at home base, hand creasing around the bathroom doorknob. He waited for Sam to catch him, but he didn't.  

_____

Muscle slipped in Dean's hands as he grappled to tear it from the bones beneath, eliciting that oh so familiar tune from his victim. He could feel the blood boiling in his ears at the sick rhythm his body thrummed to, urged onwards by the inhuman noises coming from what used to be her mouth. A thick chuckle rumbled behind him and Dean's hair stood on end. 

Alastair's presence wrapped around him before a physical hand was laid, and Dean felt the familiar roil in his belly as his anticipation built. He knew what was coming. A rush of beasts, a whirlwind of terror winding up his body like a pack of hungry wolves to devour him. God, he wanted to be torn apart, wanted to share in this former woman's struggle for blood and consciousness as the inevitable evils of her past consumed her. 

Blood seeped into Dean's flesh as Alastair's fingers finally curled around his cock and twisted. He still held the woman's bicep in his hand, his black blade in the other. All of a sudden he tasted blood and he was coming.

____

 "Dean!" 

Tensed into awareness , Dean found himself sweating into the covers of his motel bed with Sam shaking his shoulder roughly. The lights were off, but he could still make out the expression on Sam's face.

"Dean, are you okay?"

His heartbeat stuttered. What had he been doing in his sleep to trouble Sam so much? What had he seen...

Dean swallowed mild panic and shifted to sit up on brittle sheets. It only took a small bit of shuffling in that simple upward movement to realize he had bitten his lip into bleeding, and that he had indeed creamed his pants in the waking world. Shit.

"I'm fine Sammy." He just had to sit this one out, pretend none of this was happening. He moved his hand to push away the firm grip on his shoulder, but Sam protested.

"If by fine you mean "It's just another nightmare about Hell," then you've got some re-prioritizing to do. How do you expect to move on from this Dean?" Caught, Dean knew Sam was really talking about how  _they_ would move on from this. Since his return, Dean hadn't brought up their any of their trysts from his last year alive. 

"Talk to me, I'm your brother."

Dean would have scoffed, but decided to keep en route with dropping the subject altogether. "Nothing more to talk about Sam. I told you about Hell, I told you I remember. You know this is just something I need to wait out, so back off." 

Anger was bubbling up in his chest and he could feel Sam's reciprocated frustration between them. 

"No. I'm sick of waiting for the right time to talk about this, and I'm sick of coddling your stupid emotional insecurities! Ever since you came back, you've acted as if nothing ever happened between us, and it's driving me nuts!"

"Sam." Thick with warning, his walls started stacking bricks.

"I want you, all of you. What we started building, I want to continue. I hate that we've gone back to you not speaking with me anymore except to talk about the case!"

Keeping the anger down was numbing Dean's brain. He couldn't think clearly, repeating the mantra of "Drop it Sammy" over and over again in his head. He ripped his shoulder from Sam's tight fingers and turned towards him on the offensive.

"Maybe I don't want to do any of that any more! Ever thought of that? It was my last year Sam, I did a lot of crazy things!  _We_  did a lot of crazy things, that otherwise we never would have done! Why does this mean that we have to go back there, and why does this mean I have to talk to you about my shit?"

"How can you even ask that Dean? I'm your brother! I fucking give a shit about your crap no matter what! Now fucking yield already and tell me what the hell is going on with you!"

The energy they both emitted cancelled out as the waves collided between them. Dean's eyes met Sam's, equally wild in this desperate fight for dominance. They both knew who would win, but Dean didn't like admitting it.

"I told you I'm not saying anything more than I have already. Now, let me go back to sleep." Resignation had Dean leaning back onto the thin pillow beneath him. Sam stared with vivid frustration huffing out his nose. There was a pause before Sam made any sort of reply.

Suddenly a tight fist jolted Dean up by the cotton of his shirt, and he found himself staring directly into Sam's gaze. He wanted a fight.

"Fuck you, Dean."

Dean's fist slammed into Sam's side abdominals, loosening the grip on his shirt enough for him to regain control and begin to retreat. Straightening up, Sam's hand flew out and grabbed Dean down into a headlock.

"Coward!"

 An elbow collided with Sam's stomach. Filled with conviction, he coughed and held on. Dean continued to struggle under Sam's tightening grip, finally bobbing his head up to slam Sam in the jaw. Momentarily confused, Sam teetered back as Dean fled for the door.

He didn't make it far. A mad dash behind, Sam slammed Dean's body into the door instead. Grabbing for his wrists, Sam's Sasquatch frame won him the capture of his brother. Albeit a wriggling, angry brother. He leaned in to huff into Dean's ear.

"Give it up." More a growl than words. Dean's heart stuttered at the tempting weight grinding into his back and wrists, but he pulled himself together enough to keep up the protest.

"Fuck off Sam!" 

Sam's reply wasn't the violence Dean was anticipating. "Dean," he moaned, pulling his hips to seat Dean's ass and thrusting. His breath grew laboured and Dean felt his defences lower momentarily.  Fuck, yeah, Dean wanted it too. 

The dread of Hell resurfacing had him drawing back. No way did he want Sam seeing  _that._ No way did he want to even find out what  _that_  could end up being outside of his dream memories. 

"Sam, I was serious. This isn't what I want anymore, get off me." But his stutter betrayed him as Sam coiled a paw around his abdomen. 

Strong fingers pressed through his cotton tee, pushing firm flesh as they suggested the journey towards his cock. Dean shuddered as he let his hips roll back into Sam's lap, felt Sam's breath in his ear. 

"I don't believe you."

He hid his face in the grungy surface of the motel door, porous layers of unwashed paint distracting him from making serious decisions. Sam ground into his ass again, lovely friction picking up between himself and Sam's moving hand. They never did go that full step before he was dragged down into the pit.

Dean grunted. "I'm warning you Sam." Unh, shit wait, like that. Again. 

A deep chuckle against his neck, "Stop inviting me and I'll stop." 

Dean felt a tug at his boxers waist and a shock of arousal burned up his stomach, desire to forget why he shouldn't be doing this leaving out the memory of why he was up in the middle of the night. Sam's fingers tickled at the hem  before they softly pushed past, prompting Dean to quickly recall his embarrassment as strong heat wrapped around his now raging flesh. He felt Sam stutter in the mess.

"Dean?"

Fuck, retreat! 

Flat hands against the door beneath him, Dean switched all gears into escape and pushed back into Sam. "Shit!" 

Redoubling his efforts, Sam's shoulders managed to corral Dean back up to the door. "Dean, tell me." His hand hadn't left Dean's dick, his touch soothing and warm despite the leftovers of his dream.

Dean swallowed his pride in a thick lump. A desperate "Sam," huffed out without his permission as he let his body be surrounded by Sam's.

"We can't do this anymore." Little admission sinking into the soft paint.

Equally soft whisper against his ear, "Why?"

"You know why, Sam. You've seen me sleep."

"Dean, I love you. I want to help you turn this around. Let me help you." With that his hand stroked up Dean's cock, sending shivers of surrender up Dean's spine. 

"Goddam stubborn sunnavabitch." Only mutters of protest now, Dean let his breathing heave and his spine curve into his brother. 

"I love you."

They lost themselves in the grind, Sam's erection hard to ignore through two layers of boxers as  Dean let him stroke his cock. It wasn't fair how hot a dick was up against his ass right now, and it wasn't fair how much it was making him pant for penetration. 

"Shit, Dean I need more of you." 

Dean missed Sam's lust voice and groaned his yes in response. 

"But first, let me clean you." 

Before Dean could think of a reply, Sam was guiding his body into the bathroom. Clicking on the light and stopping Dean by the sink, Sam  grabbed a washcloth and soaked it under the tap. Dean watched quietly so as to not betray his vulnerability, letting Sam ease down his boxers to relieve him of his earlier emissions. It wasn't really working, and a blush flooded his face. 

Sam didn't look up to notice, letting the warm, soft towel wipe the taught flesh of Dean's cock. Dean shivered and couldn't look away. Tenderly, teasingly, Sam let the cloth slowly remove any stickiness from him, even curling around and fondling his balls and touching a little behind. He let out a breathy moan at the provocation. Yes, Sam please. 

Without ever removing his loving gaze from Dean's cock, Sam let the cloth fall away and sank to his knees. Dean's breath hitched in shock as Sam's warm pink tongue lapped at his cock in an effort to sooth the trauma from before. The comfort in the gesture had Dean shivering, the light warmth of love a nostalgic shock to his system. This was nothing like the black red heat of Hell. He had forgotten that. 

Sam moved slowly to swallow all of Dean, pace increasing only after Dean was able to begin memorizing every nerve Sam hit with his lips and tongue. Wide hands gripped Dean's hips with intent and Sam sucked. 

He was lost in this. He was so lost he forgot the colour of the fluorescent bathroom light, the nightmare from before, the memories of Hell. His body shook as it all overwhelmed him, pushed him up and away from the darkness. He felt his eyes close as the heat crept in and replaced his anxiety.

So warm, close. The flick of Sam's tongue just there sparking a jolt up his abdomen. Again, and Dean was moaning, his knees starting to buckle. Pushing a hand out to steady against the wall, the quiver that rose over him with his climax suddenly began to feel dangerous. A fizzle to a throb of energy consumed his body. That was different, or maybe too familiar. He pushed it aside as he felt Sam's index finger graze his hole. 

Another moan, of shock and lust urged Sam to probe softly against the puckered flesh. Taking Dean all the way down, he pushed past the first ring of muscle and began thrusting. Dean's moans turned to huffs and gasps, too overwhelmed to make any audible comment about how much he wanted this. Like he said, they never made it this far before he was ripped down into the dirt. 

Before he could dwell on that fateful night for much longer, Sam pushed deeper, sending a shock through Dean's spine as he found that fabled spot. 

"Oh, fuck!" Dean felt his weight push down onto his supporting arm as his back arched. "Oh fuck, Sam." 

Goddammit, Sam. He pushed in again, rubbing that spot as if a magic genie would appear and Dean felt himself humming with an energy of such intensity that he cried out again. All of a sudden the room was a blur, and he could feel a dark red heat surround his unconscious. Oh fuck, oh fuck. A deep voice grumbled just behind his ear, fantom slick black blades tickled his loins, and Dean felt too close again to Alastair. 

He could feel the sting of tears well in his eyes as a rush of angry red heat bloomed from deep in his chest. Goddammit, he was close but this new fear was threatening to pull out memories and sensations he didn't ever want to feel again. 

Choked out, Dean didn't want to say it. 

"Stop."

But it didn't seem like Sam had heard him, his pursuit of Dean's pleasure clouding his cognition. 

A sob now, Dean feeling the deep claws of Alastair skimming his scalp. Eliciting shivers of fearful anticipation, sticky black pleasure. "Stop." 

A hand on Sam's head, all illusion broken and leaving nothing but raw fluorescent bathroom lighting and a slight push. "Dammit Sam, stop!" 

Tears pushing fast trails down his cheeks now, Sam looked up with concern as he let Dean's cock go and withdrew his finger. A simple kiss to Dean's trembling abdomen and Sam was rising up to eye level. 

"It's okay Dean, just let it out."

Strong warm arms held him in tight against Sam's chest as Dean tried to recollect himself. 

"I don't think we can go there, Sammy." The sob left him blushing with humiliation. He didn't want Sam to see this. He didn't want Sam to know what Alastair really did. 

Sam curled around him close, nestling his lips against his ear. "It's okay Dean, I want you to show me."

Dean felt one of Sam's hands on his waist slip down to his hole again, pushing adamantly back in to the second knuckle. He trembled, both out of lust and fear, but held onto Sam's t-shirt tighter as Sam's finger sunk all the way down. 

"Sammy!" He gasped through tears, tinging the word with warning. 

"Show me. I love you so much. I want to see it." He wasn't sure what he was asking for.

After the first few shocking thrusts, Sam eased in a second finger. The stretch had Dean trying to centre himself, eyes open with steady breathing. It was okay, he could make it through this. He still felt almost crazy, cut off from time in this strangely lit room in the middle of the night and in the middle of nowhere. With his brother's fingers up his ass, and chasing a terrifying orgasm.

Soon Dean was noticing Sam's erratic breathing too. 

"Dean, can I fuck you?" Close to his ear, the suggestion somehow bypassed his brain and shot to his dick. 

Sam teased his entrance with a third finger, eliciting a grunt as Dean turned his face away from Sam. How could he say no? And, how could he say yes? He was so close to that radical edge where his brain would ultimately decide if it would fuck up his relationship with his brother or if it would get over the entire Hell thing forever. He decided he was going to end up pretty messed up in the end anyways, so why the fuck not?

He gripped Sam's t-shirt close. "Only if we get out of this fucking bathroom."

Sam's eyes widened, startled with the joy of Dean's answer. Again Dean found himself whisked off and into the main room where he was cornered against Sam's bed. 

"Do you have any lube?" Who was he to have any? He had been in hell the whole time.   

After a short intermission involving Sam's duffel, the scratchy sheets were beneath their skin and their groins met. Sam leaned in and their lips softly kissed, tongues teasing out thrills of muscle and moisture. Sam pushed Dean down, hands roaming over his new flesh and lifting his hips to meet Sam's excited thrusts.

Not used to being so vulnerable, Dean called an end to the rag-doll game by gathering himself and flipping Sam with a whump. 

"No more games. I'm not waiting around." Feeling more resolute and himself, he slicked up Sam's cock as his brother gazed intently on. If he was doing this, HE was doing this. He had to have some sort of control, even if it lead down that sharp path of black.

Legs bracketing Sam's hips, he let Sam's blunt tip slip just in. Oh God, it was so bad. He felt the prickle of wrongness tickle up his neck and around his scalp. Hands on Sam's thick heaving ribs, he stretched down further with a hiss of euphoria. The squeeze of his muscles told him this game wouldn't last much longer. Sam seconded with a moan of Dean's name as Dean's ass swallowed him. 

The shock of the penetration left Dean blinking at Sam. He let his muscles wriggle and gave a short undulation of his hips. His hole clenched as Sam's cock grazed something, and Sam moaned.  

"I thought you said no more games." The gasp called Dean back to reality, and he found himself smirking and giving Sam the show he was waiting for. 

This felt good. This felt unattached to anything heavy, like before. Dean felt like himself, in control, and goddamn close to the edge already being on his brother's giant cock. Using his earlier breathing tactic, Dean picked up his pace as he found that perfect angle that made both him and Sam hiss. Even the air felt lighter on his sweat-dewed skin, each puff of breath a release as he gazed into Sam's eyes.

"Fuck, I never thought I'd see this." Sam gawked. Dean bouncing on his dick was the last thing he ever thought he would get.

Meeting Dean's thrusts with his own, they fell into a synchronized rhythm. Like a flesh machine, they huffed and gasped and moaned their way up a mountain of bloodrush. Dean could feel his follicles prick from forearm up to back and all the way to scalp. A shift of his hands brushed callouses against Sam's own damp, heightened skin and they both grunted their trust. Some shift occurred and Sam was lighting a place in Dean he hadn't before, leaving them both trembling and slowing. 

A deep grind chased the glimpse of electricity as Dean closed his eyes and felt the sweat drip down the centre of his back. Cold at first, Sam's hand reached to warm the spot and guide Dean's thrusts.

As if from inside, "Dean, I love you."

He wasn't sure if he replied, but he dreamed he did and Sam didn't push it. He just kept guiding as Dean began loosing coherent control over his twitching hips. Memories of Hell weren't even near his consciousness now, his body's memory guiding him closer and closer to this reality.

A spike in awareness and Dean could hear the breath gasp out of Sam beneath him, the friction of sheets under his knees, the obscene squelch of where they joined. Again their skin rasped together as Dean pulled his eyes to Sam's without shame. Underneath, another unspoken decision, and Sam was pulling Dean down in a new way that lead them to the end. 

He wasn't sure what came out, but he felt as if all of the energy in his body flooded out in that cry. All of the fear, the anxiety, the excitement, the vulnerability. Sam's hands held hard as he too murmured his love and trembled under Dean's hips. A lightness settled around them. 

Loud sheets shifted as they held on to each other's flesh just a bit longer. He didn't remember how they ended up laying down, but Sam's afterglow was beckoning him closer. Noses huffing, brushing closer as they stole soft chaste kisses that ignored stubble and bad breath in favour of the warmth of flesh and security of trust. 

"I meant it, Dean. I love you."

"I love you too, Sam." And he knew he couldn't push his luck any further. He had already given Sam more than everything, and like the other part of him he was, Sam accepted it without question. 

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted here: http://skin-weaver.livejournal.com/1055.html in January 2012


End file.
